


uncontrolled entry

by SailorChibi



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bathing, Blanket Forts, Blankets, Broken Dean, Castiel Feels, Castiel is a Good Friend, Cuddling, Dean Feels, Diapers, Dubious Consent, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hurt Dean Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, Little!Dean, PTSD, Pacifiers, Platonic Bathing, Platonic Cuddling, Post Season 7, baby!dean - Freeform, background sam winchester/amelia richardson, bottles, but changes to consensual once Dean is aware, castiel is a little broken too, castiel is doing the best he can, daddy!castiel, dean can't handle it anymore, dean needs to be taken care of, dean snaps, dean winchester needs a hug, non sexual age play, non sexual infantilism, platonic sharing a bed, platonic sleeping together, post purgatory, season 8 fix-it, they build a little world together, thumb sucking, washing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-16
Updated: 2016-04-16
Packaged: 2018-06-02 12:01:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6565342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SailorChibi/pseuds/SailorChibi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After returning to Earth and finding out that Sam didn't look for him, Dean slowly breaks apart. A newly returned Castiel does his best to take care of him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	uncontrolled entry

**Author's Note:**

> This was a commission for a birthday present that I'm just now posting.
> 
> The age play starts off as dubious consent (because Cas doesn't have Dean's explicit permission) but becomes consensual.

The first thing Dean does after freeing Benny, with the dust of Louisiana whipping around his ankles and Benny's offer of companionship still ringing in his ears, is call Sam. He's been back in the real world for four whole days and he hasn't reached out to his brother once, but he tells himself that he had a good reason: Sam would've had all kinds of questions about this situation that Dean's not ready to answer, and it was just easier to keep his promise without Sam asking whether or not they should really let Benny walk away. Dean's not even sure _he_ should've let Benny walk away, but he made a promise and after everything they've been through together, he had to keep it.

He'd made Castiel a promise too. Dean flinches at the thought, nearly dropping his phone on the ground, and squeezes his eyes shut. In his mind's eye, he can see Castiel's hand slipping out of his. He can see the resignation on Castiel's face as the portal sucks Dean backwards and spits him out in the middle of some forest in Maine. All that time spent searching, all those empty promises, and now he's standing here in some backwater town while Castiel is running around Purgatory, being hunted by god knows what.

"Don't think about it," he tells himself sternly. "Get it together, Winchester, Sammy's your first priority. Then you can worry about Cas."

Except as he works his way down the list of cell phone numbers that he still remembers clear as anything, Sam doesn't answer. Not even the burner phone he's supposed to keep with him no matter what; the one that only Dean has the number to. Something cold locks into place in Dean's chest, and he stares blankly down at the cheap cell phone he'd swiped from some kid. Maybe he's too late. Sam probably kept hunting after he and Castiel disappeared; poor kid has probably gone crazy trying to figure out how to find Dean, just like he did after Dean went to hell. 

Dozens of scenarios rush through Dean's head, each more horrifying than the last, and he has to bend over and put his hands on his knees and take several slow, deep breaths, which is really hard when his body can't remember how to breathe.

He's already lost Castiel. He can't lose Sam too.

The number of hunters that he and Sam know has dwindled in the past three years; the Apocalypse and the increasing strength of the supernatural creatures they faced after the fact had killed off a lot of them. A couple just plain retired. New hunters are rising up to take their place - jesus, for a while there Dean and Sam were running into new hunters all the damn time - but John Winchester raised his children to be solitary hunters and that hasn't changed. 

There are a couple of people who have forced their way in; people he can count on. Namely, Garth.

It takes a little while, walking through grass as high as his waist, to find Garth's number on the internet, but Dean manages. He dials it and puts the phone to his ear with a shaking hand. The voice that answers is so familiar it hurts. He's spent the past year talking only to Benny and Castiel. To hear someone else's voice is like a dream come true, even if it's not exactly the voice he wants to hear the most. Even better, Garth is actually helpful: he happens to know that Sam is currently living in Kermit, Texas.

"What the hell is he doing down there?" Dean demands.

"I don't know," Garth answers, sounding way too calm for Dean's liking. The unfailing positive attitude has never been so grating on Dean's ears. "I haven't talked to Sam in months, Dean. The last time I tried to call him about a hunt, he hung up on me. It was a good one, too. Would've been right up your alley."

That doesn't sound like Sam. Baffled, Dean walks quicker. "Give me the address."

"430 Heather Crescent. Listen, Dean, there's a ghost in -"

Dean hangs up, shoving the phone back in his pocket and ignoring it when it starts to ring again. He finds his way through the rest of the field to an old dirt road and walks along said road until he makes it back to the highway. The day gets hot fast and he swears he sees the shadow of a filthy trenchcoat walking in front of him multiple times, but it always disappears when he gets close. Overall it takes him two long days to make his way to Kermit, hitchhiking most of the way and walking the rest. 

Kermit turns out to be a quaint little town, the kind of place that always makes Dean think of his mom, and this is when he gets lucky. He stumbles into town at about 3pm on a... he has no idea what the date is. All he cares about is that it turns out confirming Sam's location is the easiest part of his trip: a black 1967 Chevy Impala sticks out like a sore thumb amongst all the small cars and pick-up trucks.

But the address doesn't take Dean to where he expects it, even though the sight of his baby in the driveway tells him he's got the right place. It's not a seedy motel, or even an old, run-down hotel. It's a house. An actual house, with a fenced backyard and a little garden and a garage. Dean gets as close as he dares, crouching in the bushes where he won't be noticed. This is not what he was expecting at all. Did someone steal the Impala? Did Sam _sell_ it?

No. As soon as the thought crosses his mind, Dean shakes it away. Sam would never do that.

But... he looks back at the house doubtfully. He might not be familiar with the whole apple pie lifestyle, but he learned enough during his year with Lisa to know that houses like this cost serious money. It's not a small place from the looks of it, not to mention that's brand new siding and a fresh paint job on the front porch. And... yes, when he cranes his neck he can tell that there's even a pool in the backyard. Add in the new patio furniture on the wrap-around porch and whoever lives here is very comfortable.

There's no way Sam could afford this, not unless he's been running up some major credit card fraud since Dean disappeared. They both know better than that, though: one of John's first lessons when it came to credit cards was about limits. Anything over $20,000 meant that serious attention starts getting paid. The kind of serious attention that involves cops. And you have to keep moving with stolen credit cards anyway.

So how did Sam get this house?

A dog barks and Dean winces, only to freeze when the door of the house suddenly opens. Sam steps out onto the porch. He's laughing down at the dog dancing around his legs. He looks... _good_. His skin is tanned, his hair is washed and neatly styled (or as neatly styled as Sam's hair could ever get), and he's put on weight since the last Dean saw him. He's wearing new, clean clothing, and the frown lines in his face have smoothed out. His smile is huge as he leans down to rub the dog's ears. He looks like he doesn't have a worry in the world.

This doesn't make any sense.

"Amelia!" Sam calls over his shoulder, and Dean jolts at hearing his voice. The bushes rustle around him, but Sam merely glances at them before continuing. "Come on, babe. We're going to be late if you don't move it."

"The party doesn't start until we get there." A woman - Amelia? - steps out onto the porch with Sam. She's dressed up, dark hair tied up in a fancy ponytail and some kind of flirty summer dress, and she's hot, the kind of woman that Dean would've hit on before, and she leans into Sam with an easy familiarity. 

"You say that every time we're late, and I keep telling you that's not how it works."

Amelia laughs at him and pulls a set of keys out of her purse, locking the door of the house. "You just don't understand me."

"I think I understand a little too well," says Sam, rolling his eyes, but he's still smiling, and he wraps an arm around her shoulders as they walk down the steps. The wind picks up, ruffling Amelia's dress and plucking at Sam's shirt, and Dean can tell from the lack of lines that Sam isn't wearing any weapons under his t-shirt. Sam looks like weapons are just about the furthest thing from his mind.

He stays where he is, not daring to move, as Sam and Amelia go into the garage. A moment later, Amelia backs a pick-up truck down the driveway past the Impala. Sam is in the passenger seat, dog on his lap, as relaxed as though he doesn't have a care in the world. As though he doesn't have a brother in Purgatory. It's a staggering thought.

When Dean came back from hell, Sam was a wreck. He was strung-out and exhausted from searching for any possible way to rescue Dean. He'd fallen in line with a demon because he was so desperate. This Sam is the complete opposite. He looks... Dean puts a shaking hand to his face, not wanting to complete that thought, but unable to keep it out of his head. 

Sam looks the way he did when he went to Stanford and put the hunting world behind him. The world might be foggy around the edges right now, but Dean can remember _so clearly_ the handful of times he couldn't resist driving by the campus to check up on his little brother. Every time, Sam was happy, practically glowing with health in a normal world, and never more so than when he was with Jess. The way he looks right now. Like a Sam who's put hunting and everything related to it behind him.

That's not something that happens over night. Not with Dean's careful, considerate little brother. It took the better part of three years before Sam and Jess moved in together; for Sam to look this comfortable with that woman, they have to have been dating for at least eight to ten months. Dean's only been in Purgatory for a year. There's a very slight chance that Sam spent the first couple months looking for a way to get him out, but that's doubtful. It's a lot more likely that Sam wandered into this town, met Amelia, and ended up settling down long before Dean even learned about the portal home.

Sam didn't look for him. 

The realization crashes into Dean so hard he reels back, falling on his butt in the mud. For the longest time he just sits there, unable to fully wrap his mind around it. The whole time he was in Purgatory, a little part of him was worried about Sam. About how Sam was doing, how he was feeling, whether or not he was dealing well without Bobby there to help him. 

And Sam had forgotten about him. Buried Dean and moved on.

He's not sure how long he sits there for, but it's long enough for the sun to set. The streetlights flicker on one by one and it starts to mist, which quickly turns into rain. A shiver finally breaks Dean out of his stupor, and he realizes that he can't stay here. Sam and Amelia are going to come back at some point, and clearly Sam won't want to see him. Dean will just destroy his perfect life again. He did that to Sam once - took him away from Stanford, from Jess, from everything that Sam worked so hard for - and he can't do it again.

His legs feel funny when he finally gets to his feet; he's numb from head to toe, except for where a few of the worse wounds from Purgatory are throbbing with heat. Sam's house is quiet, and no lights come on even when Dean walks across the lawn. He nearly slips twice, because the lawn's been freshly mowed (of course it has) and the clippings are sticking to the bottom of his ill-fitting sneakers, but he makes it to his car in one piece. His car. Dean sets a trembling hand on the roof of the Impala, eyes burning. 

It's a cruel thing to do. Sam will definitely freak out when he finds the Impala missing and he'll report the car stolen, which means that Dean'll have to change the license plate and get out of state fast. But he's not leaving his baby here. The Impala's not meant to sit in the driveway of some cul-de-sac for the rest of her life. He looks around, but there's no one watching him. Of course not. This kind of neighborhood, nothing bad ever happens here. Nothing suspicious. It's the kind of place where the most exciting thing is a pregnancy or a retirement, or maybe a natural death. At the very least, Sam'll be news for a while.

His hands are still numb with cold, but Dean manages to pop the lock without too much difficulty. He doesn't have keys, of course, but he's hotwired the Impala before and he'll do it again. Any half-decent mechanic will be able to make him a copy of the ignition key, though he has no idea how he's going to get the money. Panic tightens his chest and he braces an arm against the steering wheel, putting his forehead to his hand. He's shaking again. 

This isn't how he expected things to be when he got back to Earth. He thought Sam would be thrilled to see him again. He thought Castiel would be with them. He thought they'd take a break for a while, get used to being back on Earth, and then get back to hunting. The three of them. Team Free Will. The way it was meant to be.

But now he has no money, no clothing, no weapons - it's unlikely that Sam has left anything in the trunk considering his new apple pie lifestyle. Fuck only know where everything has ended up, and that _hurts_ because some of those weapons belonged to John - and no idea what the hell he's supposed to do next. The only thing he has is the too-large shirt and jeans he stole, his shitty phone, and his car. And a half a tank of gas. It has to be enough.

At least his baby is quiet, purring like a kitten when Dean backs down the driveway, so Sam's been tending to her. It's a meager comfort. He keeps the headlights off and is out of town within fifteen minutes, out on the highway where he belongs. 

He pulls over into a roadside gas station only once he absolutely has to, because the Impala has been sputtering on fumes for the past half a dozen miles and he knows better than to end up on the side of the road. The chance that the police would find him before a concerned motorist is just too high, and right now he's not entirely sure said motorist wouldn't call the police on him anyway just based on how he spacey he's acting.

For several minutes Dean just sits in the parking lot of the gas station, staring blankly through the windshield. The rain has lightened up a little, but water is still smeared across the glass and keeps him from focusing on anything. His breathing is still just a little too fast as the enormity of the situation hits him all over again. He has nothing and no one. He's wounded and exhausted and hasn't eaten in two or three days - though at least he's nauseous enough that he's not really hungry. The only thing Dean has left is hunting, but he's just _so fucking tired_. All he's done for the past year is hunt, never really getting a break, and the thought of killing even one more creature is overwhelming. 

"I can't do this," he whispers, so quietly that the words are barely audible over the rain hitting the glass. "I can't do this. I - Cas?"

Because for just a second, in between one swipe of the blades and the next, he thinks he sees Castiel standing in front of the car. Dean shoves the door open and bolts out into the rain, sprinting around the front of the car, but there's no one there. And the parking lot is wide open around him, with no sign of the angel. Dean takes on more look around, throat tightening, before chalking it up to his imagination. He shuts the car off and jogs across the lot, joining the crowd heading into the gas station. It's surprisingly busy considering it's close to 2am.

Being around people feels strange. The lights are so bright and everything is so colorful and the building is so confined and the people are so _loud_. Dean wouldn't be able to hear it if anyone snuck up on him. His heart, already beating fast, speeds up just a little more. He puts his back to the corner, bracketed on both sides, and tries to calm his breathing while observing.

Credit card fraud isn't the only thing that John taught his sons. It's also not the only way Dean has ever had to make money, but he's caught somewhere between tense and exhausted right now and he knows better than to think he could go down on his knees for someone when he keeps wanting to turn around and gut anyone who looks at him funny. He's not even safe to be around people right now. It shouldn't be a shock to realize that, but somehow it is.

He's dangerous to these people right now, because he looks at them and he sees monsters, and he - he needs to leave. Now.

So he resorts to an old method, tried and true, and pockets the wallet of the first guy who looks like he's got a hundred bucks to his name. The gas station has a restaurant attached and the guy is heading in to eat with his family, so Dean figures he's got roughly forty minutes to gas up his car and make a run for it.

He goes back out into the rain and fills the Impala's tank, pays with his stolen credit card, and picks the pocket of someone else on his way out the door. He ditches the first wallet and takes the second with him as he gets back into the Impala. His stomach aches when he sits, and he's not sure if it's because of hunger or the poorly bandaged gash across his midsection. Maybe both. Doesn't matter. He doesn't have food or medication, so he pushes it all aside. He has gas and an open road, and right now that's all he cares about.

Briefly, for the length of time it takes him to cross into New Mexico, he thinks about contacting Benny. Benny left with an open invitation for Dean to join him anytime, and he's pretty sure that Benny would come get him if Dean asked. But he doesn't. Dean's aware enough to know just how much of a fucking mess he is right now, and he can't help anyone at this point. He can't even help himself. He'll only be a drag on Benny's resources. 

He chucks his stolen phone out the window, and with it Benny's number, and tries to breathe through the amped up burn of anxiety when he watches the car behind him run over the phone, forever destroying it.

So it goes. 

Dean drives until he either runs out of gas or his eyes refuse to stay open. He keeps picking pockets to fill the Impala's tank and buy the occasional sandwich or bottle of water, not that he can force himself to choke down much of either. He doesn't bother with renting motel rooms, both because of the cost and because he usually only gets a couple hours of sleep before he wakes up, choking back screams from nightmares. And with the way he usually comes awake, he's not safe to be around anyone else.

The pain in his stomach worsens, and so does a gash high up on his left shoulder, and he tells himself that's the reason why he doesn't contact Garth or even try to find a hunt on his own. 

The real reason - that he doesn't know if he could hunt even if he wanted to, because he's on a hair trigger at this point but his hands shake too badly to even hold a water bottle without slopping it everywhere, never mind a weapon - is one he doesn't like to think about.

But because his life is shit, and he's never caught a break, he stumbles across a hunt. Literally. One minute he's staring blankly at the shitty selection of medication that the gas station - out in the middle of nowhere, he's not even sure what state he's in right now - offers, the next he's listening to screaming. He snaps upright and cringes at the flare of pain, setting an awkward hand across his stomach. He creeps towards the front of the store and feels his heart sink straight through his stomach and into the ground.

"Call the police! Oh god call the police!" the cashier is screaming, backed as far away from the counter as he can get, staring in absolute horror as a young woman tears out the throat of another woman. The first woman - vampire, she's gotta be, and Dean's suspicions are confirmed when he sees the fangs through all the blood on her face - lifts her head and grins, eyes gleaming. She lets the body go and it hits the ground with a dull, meaty thump.

"Yes, sure, why not call them?" she says. "I'm so hungry. I haven't eaten in months. I could use the feast."

"That's not gonna happen," Dean says before he can stop himself. 

The vampire swings around and stares at him. Her expression changes to one of amusement as she slowly looks him up and down. "Oh, you think you're gonna stop me?"

Dean's got no weapon, but that doesn't stop him from dropping his dried jerky and tackling her. She goes down laughing, and as they hit the ground he sees the cashier vault over the counter and go sprinting out of the store. Good. At least the collateral damage is out of the way, though the police won't be able to do a damn thing unless there's a hunter on staff.

Then there's no more time to think, because the vampire is flipping him over with a savage snarl. Dean reacts first, punching her in the face and kicking her in the belly, scanning the room for something - anything - that's sharp enough to slice off a head. There's nothing, but that doesn't stop him from grabbing for a glass bottle of milk. He breaks it over her head and she falls back, temporarily stunned.

He goes to slide out from under her, but she recovers too fast. "Stupid human," she hisses, getting an arm around his throat and slamming his head against the ground. Dark spots wash over Dean's vision and dizziness makes his aim shit; his next punch barely glances off her left cheek and she laughs, pinning him down with ease. 

"Fuck you, you son of a bitch!" Dean bites out. He thrashes underneath her weight, trying every trick he knows to get free, half-wondering why the hell Benny and Castiel aren't hauling her off him. It's almost a shock, when she tangles her hand in his hair and slams his head against the ground again, to look up at the too-bright lights above them and realize he's still in the convenience store. Not Purgatory. 

And therein lies the problem, because Dean was at his peak in Purgatory when he didn't really need food or water or sleep, and it's shocking to realize how weak his body has become now. Against her unnaturally strong grip, the most he can do is flop around like a fish. His shoulder's burning and the area around his stomach feels wet and his head is throbbing, and the vampire's practically salivating above him.

He killed so many of them in Purgatory, and now she's going to kill him. Dean can see it in her eyes. 

She starts to lean down and he shuts his eyes, because this is how it's going to end: with him as an unidentified, unclaimed corpse (he hopes he doesn't come back as a ghost for some other hunter to have to deal with) and the Impala sold off to some sleazy car dealer who won't appreciate it. As he feels hot breath on his throat, he wishes that he'd left the Impala with Sam instead, because at least Sam would care for her appropriately.

Her fangs are so, so sharp. She scrapes at his skin, chuckles, and then bites deep. The breath in Dean's lungs seizes up, and he remembers the last time this happened in a horrible rush. At least this time Sam isn't standing by, watching it happen. He thrashes weakly, hitting her in the shoulders and belly, trying unsuccessful to dislodge her.

The pain sharpens, but it starts to feel distant. His hands and feet go numb. He goes limp and can actually feel her tongue dipping into him, lapping up his blood like a dog. His heartbeat thunders in his ears, and the sluggish thought crawls into his head that he wishes he could've seen Sam and Castiel one more time.

In a very dramatic answer to his prayer, a familiar high-pitched ringing sweeps through the store. The vampire stops drinking and flinches, crouched low over his body like a predator defending her prey, hissing through her blood-stained teeth as she looks around. She's not prepared at all for the fist that grips the back of her sweater, effortlessly yanks her off of Dean, and throws her across the room. Something crashes and glass shatters, but Dean doesn't have the strength to turn his head and look.

Castiel kneels down on one knee. "Hello, Dean," he says, so calm, like he doesn't look like death run over, like Dean isn't dying on the floor. 

Dean tries to say his name, but all that comes out is a gurgle. He tastes blood. Castiel's eyes go all stormy, and he sets a hand against Dean's forehead. "It's okay. Rest, Dean. You'll be fine."

\--

In all honesty, short and sweet, Castiel chose to stay in Purgatory because he thought it would be a fitting punishment. It never once occurred to him, as he let go of Dean's hand, that maybe punishment wasn't what he needed the most, but _atonement_. 

Kneeling there as Dean's eyes slide shut and his body goes lax, Castiel has the disturbing feeling that he's gotten it all wrong. He thought Dean would return to Earth and move on with Sam, but clearly something went wrong. Not only is Sam is nowhere in sight, but Castiel can't sense his presence anywhere near the gas station. Furthermore, Dean looks terrible: thin and fragile and exhausted, like the world has chewed him up and spit him out. 

It's always been his job to look after Dean, because Castiel was the soldier who broke through the legions of demons to rescue Dean's soul. The safety of the Righteous Man was placed in Castiel's hands at that moment and he's always taken that duty very seriously, though to look at his previous actions or at Dean now, no one would know it. 

He tried to keep Dean safe by staying away from him in Purgatory, but Dean was too stubborn to let that happen. And then, rather than accompanying Dean back here to resume his duties by taking care of and helping Dean, Castiel opted to stay behind and wallow in his sins. He owes so very much to this man, and he cups Dean's face as gently as possible as he heals the damage that's been done.

Dean's injuries are alarming. He's lost weight and is both dehydrated and exhausted. Some of his wounds are infected, and that, in combination with the vampire, nearly killed him. Ten seconds more and Castiel would've been fighting a reaper for possession of Dean's soul; he can feel them even now, circling the station like vultures, just waiting to see if they will have another opportunity to pounce. He flares his wings possessively at the idea and bends down to press a kiss to Dean's forehead. Dean is _his_ , and Castiel will make up for his grievous errors.

The vampire snarls on the other side of the shop. Castiel turns his head slowly, eyeing her. She is a pathetic creature, newly born and half-starved, mad with bloodlust. The sight of Dean's blood on her face and clothing fills Castiel with fury. He gets up and crosses the distance between them, dodging a punch and grabbing her around the throat. He slams her back against the wall just to have the satisfaction of seeing how pale she goes when she realizes that she's trying to fight a creature much stronger than she is.

"How does it feel?" Castiel asks, enjoying the way she struggles. It's amusing. She's no match for him, even with his grace at half-mast. It will be a while until he’s back at full strength, but he's getting stronger with every moment he's in connection with heaven, and it's easy to smite her. Her eyes glow white and she screams as she burns from the inside out, and when there's nothing left but a smoking husk Castiel tosses the corpse aside. It lands on the ground, still smoking, a puzzle that will no doubt leave the humans guessing for days.

He turns back to Dean. The physical damage may have been healed, but it's what's underneath that is most worrisome. Dean is a mess mentally and emotionally. His soul is crying out. Castiel's not sure what happened - Dean was close to the breaking point when he left Purgatory, but he was still holding it together. Whatever it was, it happened after Dean arrived back on Earth. And it damaged Dean deeply, to the point where he was barely living. He was like a shell, with none of the stubborn, kind, self-sacrificing, loving person that Castiel had come to know.

"What happened to you, Dean?" he whispers, kneeling down and lifting Dean into his arms. "I'm sorry. I should have been here with you. I was selfish, taking the easy way out by staying behind." He presses a kiss to Dean's sweaty hair. Somewhere in the distance, police sirens split through the air. Castiel spreads his wings and flies, taking Dean and the Impala with him, leaving no evidence that he and Dean were ever there.

Samandriel is waiting for him on the other side of the United States, in Montana. When Castiel flies into the small clearing, Samandriel takes a worried step towards him. "Are you okay, Castiel?"

"I'm fine," Castiel says, softening his tone. Samandriel is one of the few angels who have been working tirelessly to free Castiel from Purgatory. At first he was angry for their interference, but now - having seen Dean's state, and knowing how close he came to losing Dean permanently, and that he still might if he's not very careful - Castiel is deeply grateful for their tenacity. For his actions, he's shocked that his brethren didn't abandon him altogether. 

"And..." Samandriel glances at Dean, eyebrows drawing together worriedly. "The Righteous Man? Is he well?"

"No," Castiel is forced to admit, shifting Dean's weight slightly. Dean mumbles something and shivers, curling into him, hands clutching at the front of Castiel's filthy trenchcoat.

"Can I help?"

Castiel is about to say no, but pauses. He can't leave Dean, but they will need somewhere safe to stay. Not to mention food and other necessities. "I need a place to take Dean. Somewhere that no one will find us, and where he will be safe while he recovers."

"There's a cabin not far from here. I think the humans in the area have abandoned it, but I can fix it. Will that do?"

"Yes. Thank you. Samandriel, I have to ask. Why are you..." Castiel trails off when his brother turns to him, face suddenly serious.

"You're my brother," Samandriel says. "That still means something to me, and to the others. And..." He looks again at Dean. "I don't agree with what Michael did regarding the Apocalypse, but that doesn't change the fact that the Righteous Man was important to our Father. He crafted this soul to be especially beautiful. The Righteous Man needs you, Castiel. Ever since he returned from Purgatory, his prayers for you to be by his side have reached our ears. You are the only angel he trusts. Without you, his brightness is becoming dim. I don't believe that's what Father would have wanted. You must care for him. You must find a way to restore the light of his soul."

"I will." Castiel tightens his grip on Dean, hugging him. Dean whimpers in response, burying his face in Castiel's shoulder. "No matter what it takes."

"Good." Samandriel smiles at them, the brief seriousness fading away into his normal exuberance. "I always forget just how young humans are until I see them again. I will outfit the cabin appropriately while you care for the Righteous Man. Follow me."

The cabin Samandriel mentioned turns out to be about two hundred miles away from the little clearing. It's small and rickety, but structurally sound, and there's ample space for the Impala out back. Samandriel flits in and out, repairing the walls, the plumbing, and stocking the cabin, while Castiel carries Dean into a bedroom. It only takes a little grace to freshen the linens and the air, and then he sets Dean down on the bed. Even with his wounds healed, Dean is still covered in blood, sweat and dirt. Castiel mojos his clothing and the mess away, frowning when he sees the tell-tale evidence of just how little Dean has been eating.

"Why, Dean?" he asks softly, sitting down on the bed beside his friend. "Did something happen to Sam? Why isn't he with you? Where is Benny?" Dean's peaceful expression gives him no answers to his questions. He can't imagine that Benny willingly left Dean alone after how fiercely Benny defended Dean in Purgatory. But it also wouldn't surprise him to learn that Dean insisted on it. Dean was so terrified of being a bother to anyone that he would have sent Benny on his way and pretended to be fine, no matter how detrimental that attitude was to his own health.

About an hour later, Samandriel pokes his head into the room. "Hestiel is calling me," he says. "But I think I've got everything you will need. For now, anyway. If I forgot anything, just let one of us know. I'll send Inias back so that he can put some wards down to keep humans away."

"That would appreciated. Samandriel... do you know where Sam Winchester is?” Castiel never looks away from where he's stroking Dean's hair.

Samandriel’s grace twitches in surprise at the question. “Of course. The vessel for Lucifer is currently residing in a small town in – Texas, I believe the humans call it? He is cohabitating with another human. A female. Since there are no demons around him, and have not been for some time, we have left him in peace.”

Castiel winces at the answer. At least now he knows why Dean isn’t with Sam. “ _Thank you_." Castiel tries to inject every bit of gratitude that he can into those two words, meaning it as more than just thanks for leaving Sam alone. He reaches out with his grace, half-afraid his brother will reject him outright, but, much to his surprise, Samandriel welcomes the embrace. It’s been years since Castiel has felt one of his brethren like this, and he’s surprised by the visceral reaction it provokes. His eyes grow damp and he’s taken over by a bout of uncontrollable shivers.

It ends too soon. “Be well, Castiel. Take care of the Righteous Man,” Samandriel says, spreading his wings and flying away.

“I will,” Castiel says to an empty room, drawing his wings around himself to better combat the sudden loneliness. He looks back to Dean and touches Dean’s cheek just to feel the warmth of his skin. Much to his surprise, Dean’s eyes open.

“Dean?”

Dean’s head follows the sound of Castiel’s voice, turning slowly. There’s no recognition in his face. There’s just blankness through eyes heavily lidded with exhaustion. Alarmed, Castiel probes him with his grace and discovers that, while Dean is awake, he’s not aware. His soul has completely withdrawn.

“Oh, Dean.” Castiel sighs, biting his lip in frustration like he’s seen Sam do many times. He can guess what happened: Dean would have gone to Sam immediately, and seeing that Sam had settled down rather than keep hunting or searching for them would have hurt Dean deeply. On top of that, the transition from Purgatory to Earth probably left Dean unable to sleep or relax, especially when he was travelling alone, and the attack from the vampire was all it took to push him over the edge completely. Dean’s so broken he’s retreated from the world, unable to handle what’s happening.

It’s not surprising, exactly, because both Dean and Sam Winchester have gone through more than any mortal could be expected to endure in the past five years. First Dean was sent to hell, then the Apocalypse, then Sam’s “rescue” from hell, the fight with Raphael, followed by Purgatory… there’s been no time for Dean to even try to absorb the magnitude of everything that’s happened, whereas it sounds like at least Sam has tried. It’s just too much.

He could snap Dean out of it, but Castiel’s not sure if that’s the wisest thing to do. The human mind is fragile, and that kind of hasty action could break Dean irreparably. Maybe Dean needs this time to recuperate mentally and emotionally. Maybe it will be enough to bring back the brightness of Dean's soul, which right now looks like a candle flame that is inches from flickering out entirely.

In the meantime, the best thing that Castiel can do is care for Dean’s physical body. He sets a hand on Dean’s arm and uses his grace to fabricate a pair of pajamas. He’s never seen Dean or Sam wear them, but the material is both softer and more comfortable than jeans.

“Stay here, Dean,” he says, standing up. “I will go see what kind of provisions Samandriel made for us.”

It’s probably the first time that Dean has listened to him without protest. It’s distressing, but Castiel tries not to think too closely about it as he moves out of the bedroom. The cabin is small, but technically Samandriel has done well in stocking it for a human. If that human were under two years old. Castiel stares at the selection of bottles, formula, clothing, toys, bathing tools, diapers, and other assorted items normally associated with human children, all of it perfectly sized to fit Dean, and puts a hand to his face with a groan.

He should have been paying more attention to Samandriel’s comment about how young humans are. Samandriel hasn’t been on Earth for – well, ever. This is his first visit as far as Castiel knows. He must have looked into how humans treated their young and figured the same would do for Dean, never putting two and two together and realizing that Dean was considered an adult by human standards.

Although… Castiel cocks his head as he picks up one of the bottles and stares at it. He does want to care for Dean, and out of everyone in the world, there is no one who deserves to know they're loved more than Dean. 

When he raised Dean from hell, almost all of Dean’s fondest memories came from when his mother was still alive to care for him. Those memories were accompanied by a very strong desire to experience that level of care again: a desperate yearning to be loved and – most importantly – to not have to constantly be the one in charge.

He can use his grace to care for Dean, just like he did when cleaning Dean up. Or he can do it the human way, and convince Dean that he’s safe and loved. Castiel’s fingers tighten on the bottle to the point where it cracks. He nearly drops it, shocked by how much he _wants_ to take care of Dean. He wants this.

“Very well,” he mutters, more to himself than anyone else, and selects a package of diapers, some of the bathing items, and a new set of pajamas. These are more childlike, and have convenient snaps on the inside of the legs and the crotch for diaper changes. He returns to the bedroom where he left Dean, and finds Dean still lying on the bed. 

“Hello, baby boy,” he says, remembering hearing a human mother address her off-spring in that way. The multiple days he spent watching people during the early days of the Apocalypse will serve him well now. He likes the way the words sound, as though Dean is something precious.

Dean looks at him again, heading rolling across the pillow to follow Castiel’s progress into the attached bathroom. There’s a tub with a shower attachment. Castiel knows the Winchesters usually takes showers, but it seems needlessly awkward to try and hold Dean up while bathing him at the same time. So he runs warm water in the tub, testing it frequently until it’s the exact temperature Dean once showed him is appropriate, and then returns to the bedroom for Dean. He mojos away the pajamas and then, very carefully, picks Dean up.

“Here you go. You like water, so I suppose that means you must like baths, too.” He’s very careful as he lowers Dean into the bath and kneels down beside him. He watches Dean’s face closely, but there’s no visible change. 

Samandriel left shampoo, body wash, and soft cloths and towels. Castiel is aware of how to use them all. During the Apocalypse, when he was cut off from heaven, he couldn’t keep his body clean with grace the way he normally did. Dean and Sam made the executive decision that he needed a shower. What followed was a crash course in learning how to wash his vessel’s hair and body the way that humans do, as well as an impromptu trip to the local laundromat after Castiel pointed out he had no other clothing to wear.

He scoops up water with his hands to wet Dean’s hair, then squeezes some of the shampoo onto his palm. Remembering how unpleasant it was to get the foam in his eyes, he’s cautious as he massages it into Dean’s hair. Dean makes a quiet sound that Castiel’s never heard before, going boneless under Castiel’s touch, eyes closing. That little smile on Dean’s face as he relaxes destroys the last shred of doubt. This is the right decision.

Castiel patiently rubs until his fingers are covered with white foam, then patiently washes the shampoo out of Dean’s hair. A few of the longer sections stick to Dean’s forehead, and he pauses at the sight of them. Dean’s hair, head, face and body, didn’t grow while they were in Purgatory. His face is still bare so Dean must have shaved, but his hair - seeing it now, a couple inches longer than it was, is a little jarring. He doesn’t even realize he’s stroking the tufts with his thumb until Dean makes another sound, pushing into his touch like a needy kitten.

“Okay, baby.” Castiel can’t help smiling. He likes seeing Dean this way. He finishes rinsing Dean’s hair, petting the squeaky clean strands, then sets aside the bottle of shampoo for the body wash. Dean is technically clean already, but he can remember Dean muttering something about how angel mojo never made him feel as clean as a long shower did. 

He dips one of the cloths in the water, squeezes some of the body wash into it, and rubs at the cloth until it lathers up. The smell is sweet, like coconuts. He gently lifts one of Dean’s arms out of the water and begins moving the cloth across his skin. Dean sighs and Castiel smiles again; once Dean’s arm is covered in soap, he sets the cloth aside and starts to massage the tension out of the muscles. He’s never noticed just how stiff and tense Dean gets, but some of the knots are hard, built up over months and years. Castiel is patient, and only once all of the muscles are relaxed does he move on.

He repeats the process with Dean’s other arm, and then both legs and feet. By that point the water has gone cold, but it only takes the touch of Castiel’s finger to warm it back up. He urges Dean to move until Castiel can reach his back and chest, and the amount of tension in Dean’s neck and back muscles is disturbing. He uses a little grace to help get rid of the painful knots, and when Dean is melted back against the tub, he quickly cleans Dean’s genitals and bottom. 

“There you are. My nice clean boy. You smell like vanilla and coconut,” he tells Dean, who just blinks back at him in response. It’s been a peaceful bath, with only the splashing of water and Dean’s quiet sighs to break the silence, and Castiel already misses hearing Dean’s voice. He misses interacting with Dean. He wonders how long it will be before Dean comes back to him.

Dean shivers a little. Castiel pulls the plug to empty the tub, picks up a towel and wraps it around Dean’s shoulders. He carries Dean back into the bedroom and lays him down on the bed, ripping open the package of diapers. He’s seen them before, of course, on human children, but has never been close enough to touch. The application is simple enough; he slides the diaper under Dean and pulls the front up between Dean’s thighs. There’s tape on the sides which hold the front and back together. 

Or at least, it seems simple enough until he goes to lift Dean as a test and the diaper slides right off.

"Damn," Castiel says ruefully, setting Dean back down on the bed. "I guess it's not as simple as I thought, huh?" He gives it another try, fastening the sides of the diaper a little tighter, and this time it remains in place. He gets Dean into the new pajamas and then sighs, looking down at him. Dean is lying on his back with his eyes shut, chest rising and falling. He looks like he's ready to sleep, and Castiel doesn't blame him. He's tired, too; his grace is getting stronger, but until it's fully restored he'll need to sleep. He spares a thought to clean himself up - because Dean is freshly washed, and it wouldn't do to make him dirty again - and decides it's time for bed.

The bed is wide enough for him and Dean to share, so Castiel lays down beside him and tries to arrange them both comfortably. He ends up wrapping his arms around Dean and holding Dean's back to his chest, pressing a kiss to the damp hair. 

"Go to sleep, baby boy. I'm here with you. I won't let anyone hurt you anymore," he whispers. The way Dean slowly relaxes into his hold, breathing growing deeper as he drifts off to sleep, makes Castiel feel protective in a strange, soft way.

It takes Castiel a little while to fall asleep. Waking up happens a lot faster. Dean is screaming, punches flying, and Castiel grunts when Dean's hand strikes him in the mouth. It doesn't hurt, but it does help to yank him the rest of the way out of a sound sleep. He sits up and pulls Dean into his lap, getting a good grip on the frightened little boy. He can't help but think of Dean that way when he sees the tears on Dean's face and feels the sobs shaking through his body from nightmares so strong that, even with Dean shut down, they still send him into screaming fits.

"Shh, shh. I'm here. It's okay. Shh, shh, baby. I'm here," Castiel murmurs over and over again. Remembering how a father had comforted his crying child at the playground once, he rubs Dean's back and keeps talking to him. The sound of his voice seems to soothe Dean, who stops that awful keening sound but keeps crying. Castiel hugs him tighter and mojos a pacifier into the palm of his hand. One of the handful that Samandriel left him, it's pale green with a yellow teat. He gently presses it to Dean's mouth.

Dean doesn't suck at first. He just sniffs a couple of times and looks up at Castiel with wet, glassy eyes. Castiel smiles as best he can and wipes the tears from Dean's cheeks with his fingers, wishing he had some other way to comfort his friend. Based on what's happened so far, his offers of protection seem so paltry. But it's the only thing he has to offer right now. That, and caring for Dean the way a human parent would care for their child. The way Dean has always longed to be cared for. And while it's not something Castiel ever considered before, he's finding the idea more and more attractive.

It helps that Dean looks absolutely adorable with the pacifier in his mouth, cheeks rosy and hair curling a little at the tips.

"What do you say we get you some food?" he suggests, automatically glancing at the window. The sun has changed position, but they've only slept for a couple of hours. Not nearly as long as Dean needs. But he doesn't think it's a good idea for Dean to go back to sleep this soon. He gets up, easily scooping Dean onto his hip as he heads out into the kitchen.

Samandriel left simpler food for them - bread, milk, eggs, cheese, some meat and veggies, plus a few processed options - but Castiel quickly discovers a problem. Like this, Dean doesn't seem to have the awareness necessary to chew. He can swallow, as evident when Castiel puts a little of the soft cheese in his mouth, but he won't chew. He just opens his mouth and lets the food fall back out. Castiel eyes the bottles.

Five minutes later, he's reclining on the couch, supporting Dean with his left arm while holding the bottle with his right. Dean is sucking at the nipple of the bottle and swallowing the milk that comes out, so at least he's getting _something_. It won't be a long-term solution unless Castiel finds a more nutritious option that milk, but for the moment it will do. He looks at Dean and smiles again at the mess Dean's making: milk is spilling down his chin onto his pajamas, because Castiel hadn't thought to grab a bib.

"You're a messy baby, hmm?" he asks playfully. It's the truth. He hadn't expected to end up treating Dean this young, but in light of the current situation it makes sense. Actually, it makes the most sense overall. Dean's always had so much responsibility on his shoulders. He's been a parent to Sam from a young age. He deserves to have some time to himself, where he doesn't have to think or do anything but just be himself, so that someone else can take care of everything. The only time that happens for a human is when they're a baby. So why not treat Dean that way? 

He's pretty sure Dean won't see the logic in that, but Castiel will cross the bridge if - no, _when_ it happens.

When Dean is finished with the bottle, he lifts Dean up and pats his back a few times. Dean belches, spitting a little more milk down his chin, and Castiel ends up using grace to be rid of the mess. Next time he'll be better prepared with a bib, or at least a cloth to wipe up any messes. He keeps on absently patting Dean's back a little while looking around the cabin. Samandriel left a few toys behind, but not many. And they won't be able to go very far beyond the wards. He'll have to talk to Hester or Inias or maybe Rachel about bringing a few more toys. Not that Dean can play with them right now, but Castiel can hope.

At some point, they both must fall asleep on the couch because when Castiel wakes up again, it's morning and Hannah is standing over him. Dean is still sleeping, drool running down the side of his cheek. Castiel wipes it away, looking up at his sister.

“Good morning, Castiel,” she says. “How are you?”

“I’m fine.”

Hannah doesn’t look convinced. “You’re weak,” she observes bluntly, looking him over with a critical eye. “Perhaps you should leave the Righteous Man with Hester and come to heaven with me for a while. We can hide you from the others. It would help restore your grace faster.”

“No,” Castiel says, shifting his grip on Dean as he sits up. There’s a new, unpleasant smell in the air, and he figures out pretty quickly that it’s coming from Dean’s diaper. “I can’t do that, Hannah. Dean barely trusts me as it is, and he doesn’t know any of you. He would never forgive me if he came back to himself and found out that I had left him with a stranger when he’s so vulnerable.” Not to mention, Castiel will never forgive himself if something happens. He trusts Hester, Inias, Samandriel, Hannah and Rachel as much as he can, but Dean is too vulnerable right now if another angel decided it was time to get some revenge for Castiel’s actions.

“Of course he trusts you. You’ve fought with him for many years. He mourned your loss after he returned to Earth,” Hannah says.

“You can be angry at someone, or even distrust them, and still miss them,” Castiel replies, even though he knows that she won’t understand. It’s something he wouldn’t have understood either before he nearly fell and became more closely acquainted with human emotion than he wanted to. 

He pushes himself up, lifting Dean with him, and starts walking into the bedroom. Hannah trails behind him as he adds, “Besides, my grace will replenish itself just fine now that I’m back on Earth. I have no intention of leaving Dean.”

“But you are planning to come back to heaven at some point.”

Castiel lets his silence speak for him as he sets Dean down on the bed and un-snaps the pants. When he removes the soiled diaper, Hannah crinkles her nose and takes a very hasty step back. Samandriel left him nothing to clean Dean with, so for the time being he mojos the mess away and then wipes Dean’s bare flesh with a damp cloth from the bathroom. Hannah stares at him while he slides another diaper under Dean’s hips, pulls it up between his thighs, and fastens it correctly.

“Why?” she says finally, clearly aghast. “Why would you prefer to stay here? I understand that you want to make reparations for what you’ve done. You want forgiveness. But Castiel, _this_ ” she gestures to Dean “is the not the way to do it. Come back to heaven with me. We can leave the Righteous Man with humans who will care for him, and we can protect him from a distance. You need not lower yourself to this standard.”

“And what do you think will happen when I return to heaven?” Castiel inquires, cool. “I’m an outcast, Hannah, and we both know it. Our brothers and sisters are frightened and angry, and they have every right to be. You can't hide me forever, and I wouldn't want you to." He looks back at Dean. "At this point I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to return. Frankly, I don’t know that I would if I could. I want to be here with Dean. He is worth it.”

“But you can –”

“It’s not just about forgiveness,” he interrupts, already knowing what she’s about to say. “Though that is part of it. Dean is the one who I’ve wronged the most, that’s true. I would like his forgiveness, though I don’t think I’ll get it. More importantly, this is where I feel the need to be.” He wants his siblings to love humanity and Earth the way that he does, so he doesn’t add that he wouldn’t dare leave Dean with other humans right now. Castiel has seen both the best and worst humanity has to offer. One such result is lying in front of him.

Hannah looks between him and Dean as though searching for answers. Clearly this is not how she was expecting the conversation to go. “I don’t understand why you would prefer to stay here.”

“It’s not your place to understand,” he says as gently as possible, because Hannah is kind and she helped to save him so that he could protect Dean, and for that, if nothing else, he’s grateful to her. He’s always known it was going to come to this; he’s never wanted to leave the Winchesters. Returning to heaven after the Apocalypse was difficult at best. He was prepared to stay in Purgatory, but now that he’s here with Dean he wants to stay. 

“I can’t change your mind?” she asks, sounding as though she already knows the answer. 

“No. I’m sorry.”

Her grace roils heavily in the air between them. “I think you’re making a mistake.”

The words are weighted with the gravity of Castiel’s previous actions, and he winces. He can’t blame her for being so doubtful. The last time he went against heaven, he ended up declaring himself the new God. Trust won’t be easily returned, especially with his refusal to go back to heaven at all. From Hannah’s eyes, this situation could easily look like a similar mistake.

Yet Castiel knows it isn’t, and he’s cautious when he says, “If you spent more time on Earth, you would understand why I’ve made this choice.”

“Perhaps,” Hannah allows with a tilt of her head. “But seeing you now, I don’t think I’ll be spending any more time here than necessary.”

Her words sting, but before Castiel can respond she’s gone. He stares at the place where she was and sighs. He doesn’t regret their conversation, but he also wishes it had played out differently. A small part of him does want to return to heaven. It’s his home. But a greater part wants to stay here with Dean. He likes the idea that he can protect Dean and repay him and try to earn repentance all at once, and he’s not prepared to give it up.

“I suppose it’s just you and me now,” he says, turning back to Dean. He leans in, pressing his lips to Dean’s cheek. He’s seen many parents do this, though he’s not entirely sure why. But Dean’s skin is smooth and warm under his lips, and he discovers that the contact feels nice. When he pulls back, he keeps a hand on Dean’s hair.

Samandriel pops in to visit once in a while, but other than the days settle into a rhythm that Castiel quickly begins to enjoy. He and Dean share a bed at night – though they rarely sleep the night through, with one or both of them waking up from nightmares (usually Dean). In the morning he changes Dean’s diaper, feeds him, and takes him outside to look at the birds and the trees and the sky – though they never go beyond the wards. Then it’s another diaper change and lunch.

After lunch, Dean goes down for a nap. Castiel is left to himself in those moments, and he doesn’t care for it. The silence gives him time to remember what he's done until he wants to pluck his feathers just for the distraction from it all. Fortunately, right about the time he can't take it anymore, Dean usually wakes up. He gets changed again, and then Castiel usually tries to encourage him to play. To date, Dean hasn’t shown any interest in the toys. But Castiel refuses to give up, and carries on as though Dean is no different than normal.

Then there’s supper, followed by a bath, and Castiel is always weary even though they haven’t done very much. He takes Dean to lay down in the bed, and in the darkness he tells Dean stories. About what heaven was like when he was small, and the creation of the world, and Lucifer’s fall. He delves into what it was like to be God and how he felt staying behind in Purgatory, though only briefly. He tries to keep the stories to happier topics, like the first time he came to Earth.

And one morning, about a month after they arrived at the cabin, Dean opens his eyes and hoarsely whispers, “Cas.”

\---

Dean isn’t aware of much at first. He thinks he’s dead for the longest time, though this isn’t like any heaven he remembers. There's no Sam, no Mary, no long road of memories. Just nothing.

Gradually, little flashes of things start to come through. Like Castiel’s voice, or the smell of milk, or the feel of water against his body. None of it makes any sense, though, and Dean is so very tired of the world and the shit show he’s had to put up with since he was four years old. He doesn’t want to face any of it.

But the images are persistent, tugging at his sense of reality until they can’t be ignored no matter how much he wants to. The first time he really pays attention, it’s because he can feel hands on his body and he doesn’t remember why those hands would be there. He opens his eyes, but it’s like he’s seeing everything through a fog. Even the hands, which are rubbing the tension out of his muscles, feel as though they’re coming through thick layers of clothing. Everything is distant.

“Hey there,” a familiar voice says. Castiel smiles down at him, still massaging his feet. “How’s my baby boy today?”

What? Nothing about this makes any sense. Dean stares, confused, because Castiel should still be in Purgatory. He definitely shouldn’t be here rubbing lotion into Dean’s feet. Castiel doesn’t seem to notice anything strange about this; he carries on as though Dean were still asleep and moves on to the next foot. The lotion is cold at first, but warms quickly, and his fingers are strong and sure.

Dean blinks and loses time.

He next gains awareness of the warm water all around him. Castiel is talking to him, but this time the words don’t get through and just sound like a meaningless (but comforting) rumble. Dean’s leaning against something cold and firm while Castiel patiently cleans him from head to toe. Literally. He tries to flail in protest when the cloth goes between his thighs, but his body’s not responding to him. He’s just too far away, and everything is slipping between his fingers – 

He blinks again, and loses more time.

He’s playing with Castiel – or rather, Castiel is helping him to play, taking Dean’s hand and helping him to press brightly colored buttons that make different animal sounds. Then he’s laying on his back in the grass, looking up at a blue sky, listening to Castiel’s deep voice tell him the most amazing stories. Then he’s cuddled against Castiel, and something rubbery is between his lips; his body sucks of its own accord, and warm milk trickles down his throat.

He blinks again, and again, and again.

He’s in bed with an angel, and Castiel is having a nightmare. When Castiel wakes up, shivering, he curls around Dean and fervently whispers promises of protection. Then he’s on his back again and it’s morning, and his lower half is naked and kind of itchy. Castiel’s fingers touch his hip briefly and the itchy wet feeling goes away, and then something bulky is pulled up between his thighs. Castiel helps him to sit up and smiles into Dean’s face. He looks exhausted, but calmer than he’s been in a long, long time – almost serene.

It’s hard to string the individual pieces together into something cohesive, because Dean’s missing so much time and nothing makes sense. But the feelings – calm, contentment, affection – keep trickling into the dark until suddenly, there’s not much dark left. The whole world is bright around him, and Dean opens his eyes.

“Cas?” he whispers. His throat’s painfully dry, and his tongue feels thick in his mouth. 

“Dean?” Castiel looks stunned, eyes going wide, nearly dropping the bottle in his hand. “Dean! You’re here! With me!”

At one point, Dean might have mocked that kind of overstatement. But Castiel’s face is scrunching up like he might cry, and there’s some lines even Dean won’t cross. He settles for a smile that feels odd, like his cheeks have forgotten how move that way, and slowly looks around. He's sitting on a couch in some kind of cabin, and he's wearing - wow.

The blue onesie, silver snaps at the crotch, with a green pacifier attached to the collar, is probably the least cool thing Dean's ever worn, and that includes that stupid 'I wuv hugz' t-shirt Sam still teases him about.

Sam. Dean winces at the reminder and has to physically push the thoughts of his brother away. He needs to understand. "Cas, what?" He plucks uselessly at the fabric, lacking the strength to do anything about it. And not yet sure if he wants to, though he wouldn't admit it out loud. Everything is slow and confusing.

"Do you remember the vampire attack?" Castiel asks, taking a seat beside him. When Dean nods, he continues, "I've been taking care of you ever since then. This is a warded cabin where no one can find us, so we're safe here."

"How did you get out of Purgatory?" It takes effort to string the words together. Some of them come out a little more slurred than Dean would like. He's so _tired_.

"Some of my brothers and sisters found a way. They've been helping me. Us. Bringing food and supplies so that I wouldn't have to leave you."

"Supplies," Dean rasps, still plucking at the stupid onesie. "Should'a told 'em they had the wrong idea. You know better. M'not a kid."

Castiel lowers his gaze to the onesie and is quiet. Too quiet. For too long. Dean looks again at the bottle and sorts through what little memory he has of the past little while. Tries to put it all together.

"Cas?" he prompts again, when the silence drags.

"You didn't have this," Castiel says, with that same old intensity that always took Dean's breath away. "I saw your life when I raised you from hell. You want this, Dean, I can tell. And I wanted to - to help you, to care for you. So yes, when Samandriel left these things here because he didn't understand, I went with it. I've enjoyed it. You're very precious to me."

The heat in Dean's face tells him he's blushing. This is Castiel, though; he doesn't get that you can't just say that. "It's weird," he points out. "S' _weird_ , Cas."

"It's only the two of us here. No one else. What does it matter if it's weird?"

Hearing it like that, it makes a little too much sense. Dean feels like he's having one of those dreams where the most ludicrous of suggestions sound perfectly reasonable. He closes his eyes for just a moment, but when he opens them again the cabin is gone, hours have passed and he's looking up at a setting sun. Movement at his side makes him look, and there's Castiel, sound asleep.

Dean feels a little more clearheaded now, a little more connected with the world. The grass is tickling the nape of his neck. There's a warm breeze blowing. He can smell pine and flowers and something fresh, which were all scents missing from the woods of Purgatory. He's pleasantly warm all over, but not to the point of being hot. He flexes his fingers and feels dirt.

He's not a child. He's an adult, and has been since he was four years old. Every instinct Dean has is demanding that he get up, take off all this baby crap, and go drink whiskey until it all becomes a blurry memory that he and Castiel will never speak of again. 

But.

Before the vampire attacked him, he was twitching constantly, always thinking that someone was creeping up on him. He nearly decked half a dozen people and almost ganked a dozen more, thinking that they were vampires or worse. He was on a hair-trigger, and if he hadn't been so run down, it wouldn't have ended well. Dean's smart enough to get that.

That tension is gone now. Here, with Cas, this is safe. Somehow that knowledge has crept in past all of Dean's considerable barriers and sank under his skin to become a part of him, and even now that he's got his mind back, he can't get rid of it. Can't convince himself that he's _not_ safe, when he has the memory of Castiel cradling him like he matters. No one's looked at him like that for a really long time.

He rolls over onto his side to look at Castiel, and that's when he sees her. He stiffens, realizing first that he has no weapon and second that he's only dressed in the onesie and a diaper. She holds her hands up in the universal sign that says she means no harm and backs off a few steps, the wind tossing her dark hair around her shoulders.

"I am Hannah. I am Castiel's sister," she calls to him. Her voice is soft enough that it won't wake Castiel.

"That supposed to mean something to me?" says Dean, the words coming out more easily now. "I've met a fair few angels who wanted to gank Cas and me, so forgive me if I'm not falling all over myself to give you a warm welcome."

Hannah's mouth tugs into a disapproving frown. "I would not hurt Castiel. I helped to save him from Purgatory. I tried to get him to return to heaven with me, where he would be safe, but he refused. He wanted to stay with you instead." Her tone makes it clear exactly what she thinks about that.

Dean can't even say which part of that surprises him more. That Cas wanted to stay with him, or that Hannah believed he would be safe in heaven. That's an angel for you, though. "Then why are you here?"

"I sensed that your soul had awoken from its sleep. I wanted to meet the Righteous Man for myself," says Hannah, and Dean makes a face. It's been a long time since anyone has called him that, and he hasn't missed the nickname at all.

"Well now you have, so go away," he says, feeling inordinately protective of Castiel. For all the problems they've had, the lies and betrayals that are like the huge, unmentioned elephant in the room, he doesn't want her to take Castiel away. And not just because Castiel's created this little haven for the two of them, either, or because he's been taking care of Dean all this time. He's _never_ wanted Castiel to go back to heaven. Like he said before, cursed or not, he'll pick Castiel every damn time.

Her frown deepens. "I suppose that there is no point in telling you that you should convince him to return to heaven."

"It's not my decision to make," Dean points out, and it gives him pleasure to say that and mean it. It's Castiel's choice, and he's made it already, though why the hell he's chosen Dean is a question Dean can't answer. He sits up, drawing his legs against his chest, and scowls at her. 

"Maybe not, but Castiel holds you in high regard. He would listen to you."

Dean snorts, a bitter half-laugh. "Yeah right. Clearly, just like always, you angels have no two clues about what's been going on. Look, even if Cas did listen to me, I'm not making him go anywhere."

"Why will you not forgive him?" Hannah demands, her frustration palpable. "He remained in Purgatory for you. When we rescued him, he chose to care for you in the hopes of earning repentance. Forgive him and let him be free!"

"Hannah." Castiel opens his eyes then and sits up, something stony and cold settling over his face. "That's enough."

"But that's why you're here, isn't it?" she presses. "Castiel, I do not understand -"

"Exactly. And you won't. We've been over this. It's impossible."

Hannah stares at them for a couple of minutes, and Castiel meets her gaze head-on. Dean gets the feeling they're having one of those creepy, silent conversations. He's not sure how it ends, but Hannah finally makes a deeply frustrated sound and spins on her heel. The air shimmers and then she's gone, leaving Dean and Castiel alone. Castiel lays back down on the grass and sighs, looking up at the sun.

"I'm sorry for that, Dean."

"It's okay," Dean croaks, even though it's not. He's cold now, the day's warmth gone. "Cas, are you - is this just cause you're trying to get my forgiveness? I told you back before we faced Dick that I forgave you. And what did she mean, you remained in Purgatory? I was the one who let go."

"No, you didn't," Castiel says, looking at him with too-blue eyes, and Dean can't stand the gravity of those eyes. He crawls away, putting a few feet between them, and bends over until his forehead meets his knees. It's hard to breathe when he thinks about the nightmares he had when Castiel's hand slipped out of his, and it's impossible to reconcile the knowledge that Castiel let go willingly. It was never Dean's fault. 

Or maybe it was. Castiel tried to tell him that he wasn't going to leave Purgatory, and Dean ignored him. He was so sure that in the end, Castiel would come with him. Maybe if they'd just sat down and had a conversation for like two seconds - 

"Dean." Castiel's hands are warm on his shoulders, and Dean's body relaxes so quickly it surprises him. It feels normal to let Castiel turn him around and give him a hug. It feels safe. 

"Cas," he says weakly.

"I'm not here because I want your forgiveness. Or at least, that's not the only reason," Castiel says quietly. "I do want repentance. And I think that staying with you is the best way to get it. You keep me on the right path, Dean. This -" his hand sweeps down the front of the onesie "- was because I truly thought it was something that would benefit you. You were hiding so deep I'm not sure I could have reached you otherwise, and it felt like the easiest way to make you realize that you were safe. That you were loved enough to want to come back."

Dean's ears ring. "You love me?"

"Yes. In every way possible. I didn't know love could be like this," Castiel adds, and he looks bewildered by that, that love could be so all-consuming. "I've enjoyed caring for you this past month. Bathing you, feeding you, changing you... I know it's not strictly necessary, but it gave me purpose. I liked doing those things for you. But I understand if I've interfered with your personal space."

Oh god. Castiel sounds so earnest, and he's so far beyond the boundaries of personal space that Dean wants to laugh, except he kind of wants to cry at the same time. He doesn't know what to think or feel. It's not even in the realm of normal, but it's hard to say no outright when Castiel's looking at him like this. 

Like for the first time in years, he's completely free of Lucifer's influence and he knows who he is and who Dean is, and he wants this. Wants something that's pretty damn easy for Dean to give, and maybe even a little part of Dean wants it too, because the memories that keep creeping up on him are some of the safest he's had in years.

"How about a trial?" he says, and his voice cracks, embarrassingly enough. 

"Really?"

"Yeah. I can't say I'll like everything, cause - cause this is pretty damn weird, Cas, you must know that. But I got nowhere else to be, so..." Dean forces a shrug.

Castiel's eyes go all soft. "Oh, Dean. I'm sure Sam would be happy to see you."

Even just the mention of Sam's name makes Dean's throat go tight. He swallows roughly and shakes his head, dropping his gaze, and is almost relieved when Castiel gets up and effortlessly swings Dean up onto his hip. Odd as it is to be carried when he's not half-dead, it's still better than having to look into Castiel's too-knowing gaze. Sam is just too raw of a topic right now to talk about. He can't handle it.

"Okay, baby boy," Castiel says, right in his ear, patting him on his lower back. "Okay. Let's go find some dinner instead."

And yeah. It's really frigging weird. They backtrack a lot, two steps forward and five steps back: Dean outright refuses to wear the diapers and very reluctantly consents to pull-ups, with the stipulation he can use the bathroom alone. He eats by himself and takes a bath by himself, though allows Castiel to sit beside him. At first, the only concession he gives into is the bottle, because Castiel looks like a kicked puppy when Dean says no.

There's something, though. Something about leaning against his best friend in the whole world (in all the different worlds, really), accepting the bottle, sucking on it. The way Castiel looks at him in those moments makes Dean's heart do flip flops, because no one's looked at him like this for years. He starts to believe, just a little, that's he loved. That he's worth it. That's the moment that he thinks Castiel starts to believe it in return.

It takes a hell of a lot of time and effort, but they get there eventually. And when Dean's sitting underneath his awesome blanket fort, wrapped up in his favorite purple blanket that Rachel personally knitted for him, he can admit it's all been worth it. Purgatory and Sam and the problems of the real world are light years away, and all he has to worry about is - 

"Gotcha!"

Dean squeals with joy as he's scooped up and spun in a circle, still tangled in the huge blanket, unable to squirm enough to get his arms free. Castiel laughs and peppers his face with dramatic, wet kisses.

"Daddy!" Dean complains, trying in vain to turn his face away, laughing and wiggling.

"There are no daddies here," Castiel says in a deep voice. "Just monsters who eat babies for breakfast."

"No!" Dean says, finally freeing an arm. He pokes Castiel in the nose. "Daddy!"

"Are you sure? Maybe I'm a tickle monster."

"Noooo!"

"No? Okay then." Castiel laughs again and spins in one more circle before he dramatically flops on the ground, taking Dean with him, making sure that Dean's head doesn't hit the ground. Dean lays on top of his daddy, listening to the sound of Castiel's heart with a satisfied smile. The sound makes him sleepy, as it often does, and his eyes grow heavy. He slips his thumb into his mouth, yawning, as Castiel starts to adjust the blanket around them. He pulls it up around Dean's shoulders and tucks the ends in, all warm and nice.

"Go to sleep, sweetheart. Have a nap."

"Love you, 'addy," Dean mumbles around his thumb. He's not awake long enough to hear the answer, but now he doesn't need to be: he knows for real now that he's loved.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on [tumblr](http://tsuki-chibi.tumblr.com/).


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